


Marsh Crowns

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Series: FFI Headcanon [2]
Category: Final Fantasy I
Genre: Female Warrior, Gen, M/M, Male white mage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This had better be the most extravagant crown I've ever laid eyes on."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marsh Crowns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justira/gifts).



> Prompt: _From ANY of the above canons (or any other with a jobs system) -- Job class play! Would especially like to see: a man engaged in a class typically associated with ladies (dancer, white mage, etc) in a respectful, kickass way._

"REDBONES!"

Gaul's shout forces Ulren to turn away from the dying Black Widow. It smells putrid, venomous blood oozing from its many wounds, but Ulren swallows the urge to vomit. He sets his eyes on the approaching skeletal warriors instead, muttering the beginnings of a holy Dia spell.

The Marsh Cave, lit only by the grace of Clef's Fire cantrip, is suddenly filled with white brilliance. The Redbones stand no chance against the onslaught, and Ulren watches with smug pride as they topple to the ground in heaps of lifeless bone. Before he even has a chance to gloat over it, Almya is shouting something about serpents.

"What about snakes?" he asks, turning to glance at her.

"Dozens of them!" she yells back, mythril blade gleaming in the remnants of the Dia spell. Before she can say more, they are upon her—biting at her gauntlets and greaves while she tries to shake them off.

"Like moths to flame," Gaul says, beating at one of the anacondas with a stray Redbones arm. Another anaconda is coiling around his leg, fangs sinking into his thin armor. He grunts in pain, dropping the bone to peel the snake off with his bare hands. He suffers more bites for his trouble.

Ulren is already moving, the words for Poisona on his lips as soon as he's close enough to cast the spell. "They're drawn to the light around us," he says once the venom is purged. "We're exposed."

To their left, half a dozen serpents meet their end in a massive burst of flame. Charred reptilian flesh ripens the air. Clef emerges from the smoke and debris, wielding a saber in one hand and straightening his hat with the other. "And so what would you have me do? We can't wander around down here in the dark."

Almya's armor makes a telltale clatter as she's forced back toward them. "Arguing later," she says pointedly. "Snake-killing now."

"We're not arguing," Ulren says dubiously, as though this is the perfect time to be discussing it. There are no more undead foes, and anacondas are decidedly unimpressed with getting hammered in the face, so Ulren falls back to sling Poisona and healing spells as warranted.

Clef remains on the front line, because he enjoys stabbing things just as much as burning them alive. He switches tactics, though, keeping the fire to a minimum and casting chilling Blizzard spells instead. Almya is some sort of unstoppable ogre, relentless in her onslaught but powerful enough that she doesn't require finesse. Gaul, on the other hand, decimates the serpents with his own two fists.

By the time the monsters stop coming, Ulren is certain Elfheim's entire snake population lies dead at their feet. Ulren has to wade through guts and leftover red bones, nearly slipping on blood as he comes to take stock. "Maybe we frightened them off."

"Or maybe there are none left," Almya says, laughing bitterly. She tosses a sweaty braid back over her shoulder, pushing herself to her feet with her sword. "Fiends be damned, but that wasn't child's play."

Gaul groans, rubbing his cheek with a bloody hand. "Do we get a reprieve? Can we perhaps sleep for a week, and then try again?" Ulren's eyes widen. Now the monk is joking; they've all spent too much time with Almya.

Clef is sitting down, heedless of the corpses nearly burying him. He's rubbing at his shoulder with a wince, looking a touch green. With his red cloak, Ulren can hardly see the blood he's been splattered with. "This had better be the most extravagant crown I've ever laid eyes on."

His hand starts to glow with the beginnings of white magic, but Ulren crouches down, stopping him with a hand upon his own. "Don't. Let me." He dispels and poison and magics the wound away. The chill from both spells has Clef shivering beneath his touch. The feather in his hat has drooped; Ulren fixes that, too, flicking it back upright. "Healing's my job. We need you to electrocute things."

"And to be our candle," Almya says, sheathing her sword. She points with more gusto than is required. "Lead on, candle!"

Ulren and even Gaul are stifling snorts when Clef climbs to his feet, looking none too impressed. "I should set that braid on fire," he mutters, motioning for his cantrip ball of light to follow him. "She'd make a fine torch, herself."

***

Six hours and a mountain of snakes later, nobody is in the mood for jokes. Almya is sagging with exhaustion, Gaul is covered in monster entrails, and Clef's fire has dimmed.

"I hate this place," Ulren announces, trying furiously to scrape ooze from his boots. "If we get out of here alive, I say we sell the damned crown and fund the remainder of our journey."

"I say we keep it." Almya angles her head back to give Ulren a wry smile. "I've grown envious of Clef's fancy hat. He won't let me wear it."

"You'd stretch it out," Clef tells her, but he's wearing the ghost of a smile despite his otherwise haggard expression.

When the zombies come in droves, no one is surprised.

***

"It's okay," Ulren is saying, brushing loose strands of red from Almya's brow. "You'll be fine. We'll have you up and decapitating ogres before long." As he talks, he is rubbing Cura into the bite-sized hole in her gut. Flesh and blood become one beneath his hand, smooth once again beneath the cracks in her plate armor. Almya has thrashed and groaned throughout the entire ordeal, one hand twisted up in Ulren's robe. "It is done, Almya. It is done."

"Orbs' light," she says, exhaling sharply and going limp. Her voice is shaky, but she already sounds more like her old self. "Did anyone kill the thing that tried to eat me?"

"Clef electrocuted it," Gaul says simply.

"I figured you'd want it that way," the red mage adds.

Ulren helps her up, and then turns his attention to his companions. "Anyone else hurt?" At the negatives, he looks back at Almya. "I think we should rest."

She looks at him like he's grown horns. "Are you mad?" She gestures wildly around them. "Every moment we dally, monsters are upon us—and you want us to take a nap?"

Ulren shakes some dust out of his robe. "We're exhausted. Clef, how many more spells do you think you can cast?" He averts his gaze, looking guilty. "Almya, between you and Gaul, I think I've healed a lifetime's worth of wounds and withdrawn a barrel of venom. Whatever lies beneath, we're in no condition to face it."

The air around them grows tense. When Clef's fireball flickers, dimming further, Almya sighs. "Very well. We're barricade ourselves in one of the rooms here, and hope that an army of monsters isn't waiting for us in the morning."

"We won't be staying that long," Ulren says, already heading for one of the massive doors. "Just to catch our breath and let my magic finish its job."

***

As it turns out, being sequestered in a tiny room with an army of monsters just beyond isn't the most relaxing atmosphere. Gaul has decided to meditate, sitting cross-legged in the corner, deep in concentration. Ulren supposes that counts as resting, so he doesn't interfere. Almya is dozing, propped up against the wall, chin low on her chest. In her sleep, she still grips her sword.

Clef and Ulren are curled up on the floor together, with hopes that the resonance of their magical auras will help calm them both. Clef's hat lies just beyond reach; Ulren can see it from where he's spooning the red mage. "You should sleep," he says quietly. "It's the only way your energy will recover. We need your black magic."

For a long moment, Clef doesn't reply. If he's feigning sleep, it won't do any good; Ulren spends too much time with them to be fooled. Finally, Clef asks, "What about you?"

"I've got plenty of energy left," Ulren assures him, snuggling closer. "Come on. Make my job easier: go to sleep."

"You're not my nursemaid," Clef protests feebly. The fireball above them dims even further. Ulren can barely see Clef's hat at all now.

"No," he says. "I'm Gaul's and Almya's, too."

The hat winks out of sight.

***

The thick, heavy door groans as loudly as Almya when she shoves it open to peer into the chamber. When she stiffens in the doorway, back going rigid with rage, Ulren exchanges uncertain glances with his comrades.

"EMPTY!" Almya shouts, slicing the thin air in indignation. "Fiends be _damned_ , why would they expend so much effort building _empty rooms, what is even the point—_ "

"She should be quiet," Clef says, glancing around. They've left a trail of dead in their wake, but as they've learned, there are always more.

"How many empty rooms has she opened doors for?" Gaul asks pointedly. " _You_ tell her she should be quiet."

Clef turns around so swiftly that his cape flaps about. "I'd sooner take my chances with an army of ogres."

"Let's keep going," Ulren says, trying to pacify everyone. "It must be around here somewhere."

As though his words were prophetic, the next room they open reveals a single treasure chest. It's encased in an altar of stone. The room is decidedly still.

"Ah, there we are." Gaul steps aside, motioning for Almya to go on ahead. "If that chest doesn't contain the crown, I'll eat Clef's hat."

"You'll do no such thing. What is everyone's obsession with my hat?"

Almya laughs in a mixture of amusement and relief, and heads for the chest. Gaul wanders over to inspect some strange inscriptions upon the wall. Ulren can hardly believe that their miserable journey into the Marsh Cave is finally coming to an end.

That illusion is soon dispelled. The four demons that appear before Almya are among the ugliest Ulren has seen yet. Robed like mages and with faces of cephalopods, the demons gives off a black aura that chills Ulren to the bone.

"Fuck," is all Almya has time to say, before one of the demons bats her aside with a sickening crack.

"Piscodemons!" Clef shouts, drawing his saber. "Be careful, they're—!" His words are cut off with the metallic clang of staff against sword. Ulren watches in horror as the Piscodemon makes short work of him. Clef manages to parry the first three blows, but the next three land solidly in the shoulder, gut, and head. He hits the ground like a sack of flour.

Thinking fast, Ulren casts a protective spell around himself. He then does the same to Gaul. Almya is too far out of range, hacking and slicing at her Piscodemon. Gaul is moving faster than Ulren has ever seen him, yet most of his blows don't land.

_Wait, where's the fourth—?_

The strike that glances off his shoulder should have shattered the bone. The protection spell reduces the pain to a dull throb, and the creature's momentary confusion gives Ulren the chance to swing his hammer. Fine mythril meets cephalopod face with a satisfying squish, causing the Piscodemon to stumble back.

He's vaguely aware of the second Piscodemon headed his way. Ulren chants faster than he ever has before, and casts an Invisible spell. He blurs out of sight, weaving effortlessly around the flailing Piscodemons and rushing to Clef's side.

A few shakes and a Cure spell later, and Clef is roused enough to realize that an invisible white mage is trying to get his attention. "Black magic!" Ulren is saying, eyeing the Piscodemons. Now that Clef is awake, they've targeted him again. "Black magic would be good now!"

Shaking off both Ulren and what has to be an awful headache, Clef jumps to his feet. He all but shouts the words to the Thundara spell, calling brilliant, green lightning from his fingertips. Ulren has to shield his eyes from the effects.

Thundara takes care of two Piscodemons easily, and then Clef finishes off the ones Gaul and Almya have weakened. By the time they hit the ground, boneless and lifeless, Ulren is visible once again and taking stock of injuries. Aside from minor bumps and bruises, everyone is fine.

Fully expecting something else to happen, no one can bring themselves to move for a moment. Almya recovers first, marching right to the chest to finish what she started. She breaks the lock with her boot, kicking it open and retrieving the trophy within.

Ulren, Gaul, and Clef gather around. The crown so coveted is encrusted with gaudy jewels.It shows both its age and evidence of punishment along its journey.

"You know," Clef says warily, "it's actually not that great."

Almya kicks it across the room. "Fiends be _damned!_ "


End file.
